Don't Think
by aprilhope
Summary: Brian pov BJ ficlet, 2nd person, reflections on 120 King of Babylon ep... What if you'd made him too much in your image?


Don't Think  
by AHS

(Brian pov, 2nd person, reflections on 120)

You don't think about what it means… that you knew instantly it was him, in the pitch-blue darkness of that backroom, from just the smallest glimpse of his creamy white thigh and the exhale of his breath from his body.

You don't think about what or who you were looking for down there. You don't know if it was him… and if you figured it out, you still wouldn't admit it.

You don't think about him up on that stage. You'd danced with him more than enough times to know the boy could _move_. Your hips always tended to follow his when you danced, and you don't follow anyone. You set the moves, the pace, more so than even the music, but your lower body would press to his and not want to leave.

_I taught him everything he knows._

_Except how to dance._

Yeah, but it wasn't dancing he was doing up there. It was fucking.

He was fucking that pole and fucking all of goddamned Babylon… And he was amazing.

You sensed his nervousness when the music started, even as you tried not to watch. But then it changed… into a feeling of power and freedom and "fuckyouBrian." You felt it when he started to get off on it.

That seductive little smile, chewing that gum, looking like five felony counts, even though he'd been eighteen for a couple of months. Bending back, so far back that… Christ, no one but you should know he could bend like that.

Thrusting against the pole. You wondered if the metal was cool or hot against his dick, bulging so much you didn't know why you even bothered silently praying he kept his underwear on. You shifted your stance, uncomfortably hard… the trick next to you not doing anything about it, largely forgotten by you and having apparently forgotten you, too, watching Justin.

Justin… He was pure sex up there, and you taught him that. And you knew he was doing it for your benefit. So, you should feel some sense of victory. At least, you should feel proud. Like his first night at Babylon, trying to get your attention, when he distracted those guys away from you, all shirtless shine and youthful abandon.

And whether you hadn't liked him showing you up, or you hadn't liked them touching him, mostly you were proud of him. Impressed. Almost amused. You cut in and he was yours again, easily.

Would it be so easy this time?

Fuck. You wanted it to be. You cursed yourself for it, but you did.

But something was different. He was. He was more confident now. Not just the scared teenager, so readily hurt and so eager to please. Young as he still was, he'd grown up. You knew he hadn't stopped wanting you, but maybe he'd stopped thinking he needed you.

You waited for a sense of relief that never came.

They placed that fucking crown on his head and you weren't surprised. Watching his joy and disbelief as the confetti showered him and an ocean of horny, sweaty men bowed down to him. Maybe the fix was in, maybe not, but it really didn't matter. You sure as hell couldn't remember anyone else who'd been on that stage.

_Did you see me?_

He still sought your approval. Nothing much. Even if you grabbing him and kissing him and taking him home and fucking him was what he wanted, a half-smile, a nod, kind eyes probably would have made him happy. But you had to do what you do second best and be a total shit.

When he took your trick right in front of you, he hardly even had to try. The moment was surreal, like he'd stolen your powers… but, still, you weren't that surprised. He was fucking glowing from his win, dripping with sexual energy, and at that moment you would have followed him anywhere.

But you fucking missed your chance.

_He's just my stalker._

Good for you, Justin, you thought as they walked away. Your own words from so long ago, you hadn't even realized he'd heard, turned back against you. But why did it feel like he'd stabbed you with them?

And the sight of him fucking the trick… hips pumping, biting the guy's neck, none of it for your benefit… was arousing and sickening and kind of like falling off a cliff. What if you'd made him too much in your image? A self-assured top who could fuck anyone he wanted, who didn't need a lover to fuck him anymore.

You should have found another trick, or two or three, and fucked until you couldn't think at all. But you let the trouble with Vic be an excuse to end the night. You weren't really needed there either, though… his bail taken care of… so you went home, jerked off, and drank half your bar.

You don't think about why you were in such a particularly pissy mood the next day. Why your hand gripped the coffee cup so dangerously when he entered the diner to the sound of applause, sat down and answered your question with all the things you didn't want to know.

_He had the greatest ass._

No, Justin, you have the greatest fucking ass, you thought angrily… You'd fucked thousands of guys and never seen or felt anything more perfect.

_He gave great head._

You almost laughed at that one. Justin was the best at that, the best you'd ever had…

_I told him he could see me in his dreams._

Fuck, you thought softly, as the world stopped spinning for a second. Your chest filled with held breath and pride and something else. He'd turned your words back against you again, but they didn't hurt the same this time. Slight sting, but it felt like a gift. The nod to the beginning. The love still offered underneath the lesson in his crystal blue eyes. He was still yours.

For how long, remains to be seen. You try not to think about it.

Actually, you think about it… him… all the time now.

But you don't think it means anything.


End file.
